Lament
by Tall on the Inside
Summary: It is a breeze, a thought, a whisper. It is a breath, a dream, and the fact that they're gone. They're gone, and they're not coming back.


It is a breeze; a breeze which starts off gentle, warm, comforting, but slowly gathers in speed and size until it is no longer merely a weak trickle of air, but a wave of wind that comes crashing down on him with enough force to knock him back a few steps. It goes from caressing his skin softly to biting it, tearing at it, blistering it with a chill touch that it didn't possess before. It blows his scarf away if he attempts to wear it. It breaks his umbrella if he chooses to put it up. It promises a good day, a day full of pleasant weather, average temperatures and sunshine, and, after he is convinced its words are true, throws him into the hurricane it has been waiting to become.

It is a thought; on it's own, harmless, but thoughts rarely stay alone for long. It grows slowly, billions upon billions of thoughts piling together until they are no longer a thought, but a concept, a concept that is barreling towards him at full speed, picking up even more thoughts as it does, eventually becoming so much more than that tiny thought that had sparked it, and completing its collision course not as a concept, but as an idea. This idea lurks in the back of his mind, twisting and turning, until it is a fantasy, a desire, a wish, desperate to become reality.

It is a whisper; at first barely audible, soft words of warning that begin their crescendo into a fearsome roar the second he gives them the tiniest pinch of attention. It is a nightmare he can't wake up from, a dream so vivid he's not certain whether it's really a dream. It's a breath, short and simple, yet powerful enough to keep him alive.

It's the fact that they're gone, and they're not coming back. It's the fact that no amount of lies can keep the truth hidden. It's the fact that all he has left are memories but remembering hurts more than living ignorantly. It's the fact that ignorance also hurts.

He tells himself he is strong enough to handle this, but he isn't. He tells himself he is brave enough to keep pushing forwards, but he's not. He tells himself he isn't able to carry on, and yet he does. He's clinging on, but he's not sure what to. Life? He feels hope would be a more fitting answer. He may feel like a part of himself has died but he himself is not dead, and perhaps that is what keeps him going.

No. There's no hope here. There was never any hope here. He places his head between his hands and leans forward. From his position on his bed, he now sees only the floor. Even that makes him mad, because he knows that the spot he is gazing at is just another where his brother will never again tread. It makes him sick. All his life he has hidden behind rules, but now the rules are kill or be killed and he can't follow them. Not anymore.

It is the fact that they are gone. Oowada-kun and Fujisaki-ch... kun. His brother and their friend. Gone. Maizono and Leon, who he did not know as well, gone. Killed by another of their classmates, killed by people they thought they could trust. People he trusted. People he met barely days ago, but felt like he has known for a lifetime. He was looked upon with respect by his peers. Respect and perhaps fear. Maybe even confusion. Now they look upon him with pity, because he chose not to believe. Even now, he chooses not to believe.

He feels the tears fall down his cheeks before he is even aware he is crying. He supposes it is just something he has grown used to. Hot and sticky, they slide with no style, elegance or poise. They drip off the tip of his chin, and he finally sits up. Back straight, gaze ahead of him, posture strong, good, correct. He licks chapped, dry lips, salty with the liquid now slipping down his face. He takes a breath. A slow, shuddering breath. It helps him clear his mind, for a moment. Then it is chaos again. He doubts it will ever return to its previous state of bliss.

It is those who have killed. It is those who have been killed. It is those who have yet to kill or yet to be killed. It is this school, this so-called academy of hope. It's the fact that their friends are gone. It's the fact that their friends are the reason their friends are gone. It's teenagers slaughtering one another. It's living in constant fear that someone could at any point take your life.

Wait. It's not that, exactly. It's not so much knowing you could be killed at any point, it's knowing that the person who kills you will be your friend. It's knowing that your friends have killed. It's wondering whether you will break yourself. It's being unsure who will crack next. It's knowing that someone has to be the next to die, and that person could be you.

Yes, Ishimaru thinks, opening his eyes once more. Watching your friends slowly drift apart, becoming unhinged, gathering the resolve required to murder. Knowing that eventually, whether it's by the hammer of justice or the hammer of a friend, you will most likely meet the fate the others have. It's living among the remains of those who you cared for, living where they lived, only without them. It's the knowledge that he will never see any of them again, and that, eventually, even more will leave him. That's what true despair is.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Just watched the Dangan Ronpa anime. Still not subbed, but eh. I had fun looking at all their beautiful faces. But that's beside the point; the point is, I decided to see if I could pull anything out of my ass to celebrate and wow, here it is, quality ass-pulling oneshots here. I've been meaning to write something Kirigiri-central for a while, and while the idea did occur to me to just finish what I started there, Ishimaru is my baby. I had to do this. The anime just reminded me why he is one of the characters I love so much. Unfortunately I didn't quite do him justice.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this, and I hope to write more for the Dangan Ronpa fandom in future.


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